


somnambulism

by Twice_before_Friday



Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [8]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e08 Family Friend, Gen, Nightmares, Sleepwalking, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21682735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Twice_before_Friday/pseuds/Twice_before_Friday
Summary: Gil called to tell Malcolm that the FBI had taken over the Paul Lazar case.  Malcolm has a rough night afterwards.
Relationships: Gil Arroyo & Malcolm Bright
Series: Altered & Extended - season 1 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1557952
Comments: 18
Kudos: 161





	somnambulism

**Author's Note:**

> The stories in this series are all stand-alones. You don't need to have read the others to read this one.
> 
> This story picks up from where episode 8 ended.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

_Your old pals at the FBI have taken over on Paul Lazar. And they have made it very clear you're off the case. All of us are._

_They can't do that._

_I assure you they can. Feds are in charge now, and they don't like you very much._

\----

Malcolm hung up with Gil and turned to face Jessica. He'd known it was coming, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Paul had the answers he needed, and the FBI would keep him off the case out of spite.

“What is it?” Jessica asked, seeing the tension and disappointment in the set of his shoulders and the crease between his brows.

“Maybe you should keep that.” Malcolm replied, nodding towards the gun on the table. He had been worried about her safety ever since Paul surfaced, but now that he was no longer working on the case and it would be left in the hands of the incompetent bureaucrats at the FBI, he was doubly concerned. “We've been taken off the case. The FBI is taking over.”

Jessica was angry and relieved in equal measure. Angry that the FBI would presume to remove her son from the case, especially when it involved their family so intimately. Relieved that Malcolm would no longer be chasing after this deranged psychopath, which had the additional benefit of Malcolm presumably spending less time with Martin once he was out of solitary confinement.

“Please do me a favour, though, mother?” Malcolm asked softly. “The idea of you waving around a loaded weapon after you’ve been… imbibing… is far more terrifying than any serial killer.”

Jessica's eyebrows shot up incredulously. “I beg your pardon?” That Malcolm would dare to comment on her drinking! And really, if anyone deserved a drink or two after the events of the day, it was certainly her.

Malcolm held up his hands placatingly and shook his head slightly, bemused smile on his face. “I just want you out of harm’s way. Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“I can assure you, Malcolm, that I am more than capable of taking care of myself.” Jessica arose regally from the settee, everything about her bearing broadcasting his dismissal.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. “I’ll call tomorrow. Take care.”

Jessica gave a non-committal hum and sat back down as Malcolm showed himself out.

It was late by the time Malcolm got back to his apartment, dropping his keys and wallet on the bedside table as he walked in. He was sore and exhausted and overwrought and entirely too keyed up to attempt to sleep. So he flipped on a record and settled on the couch with a glass of scotch, blowing out a weary breath as he tried to relax his battered and bruised body. He leaned his head back on the couch and let his eyes slip closed, resting the scotch on his leg as he mentally catalogued the last few days.

He had thought that finding the car at the junkyard was going to provide him with some answers, fill in the gaps of his memory, afford him some closure. Instead, he ended up with a whole new set of questions. As well as a multitude of bruises and some cracked ribs. He'd never admit it to Gil, but Malcolm was worried that he might have been right; Bright might be too close to this one. He wasn’t making the best decisions, wasn’t thinking things through. He never should have followed Lazar into that tunnel alone, he shouldn’t have fallen for Lazar's diversion with Father Leo, he should have realized Paul’s plan sooner in order to save Ryan Davis.

He ran through the day’s events over and over, berating himself for his mistakes, running scenarios of what he could have done differently. He didn’t even feel himself dozing off, his memories of the day blending seamlessly with the nightmares as they started.

He was running through the tunnels, chasing after Paul, but it seemed he was always entering one end of the tunnel as Paul was turning the corner at the other. He only ever caught glimpses of the flap of his coat or the heel of his shoe as Paul ducked out of site, Malcolm never getting close enough to really see him, the tunnels twisting and turning and taking him deeper and deeper into the darkness. But he had to keep following, to discover what Lazar knew about the Girl in the Box, to find out what happened on that camping trip. He broke into a full sprint, pushing his body to the limit, lungs aching and muscles burning as he raced down the never-ending corridor. He saw a turnstile approaching up ahead and felt a jolt of fear run through his body, a primal urge to turn and run away, but still he pressed on. A feeling akin to déjà vu rolled though him as he became trapped in the turnstile, the metal constricting his body, grinding his bones into pulp, ripping through muscle, compressing his lungs. It crushed him tighter and tighter and just when he thought it was about to shred its way right through his body, he woke up with a breathless cry.

He was standing bent nearly in half, shaking hands balled into fists on his thighs. His lungs were on fire and he was gasping for breath, each inhalation providing barely enough air, but still making his ribs scream in protest as his chest expanded. It was several minutes before he had slowed his breathing enough for anything else to come into focus, though his breaths were still coming in heavy pants, heart still racing. As his vision cleared, he realized he was staring down at a cracked slab of sidewalk, small chunks of the cement broken away, leaving a space for the weeds to climb through. He stared at the little yellow bud, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but his mind was swimming and jumbled. He stood up and looked around but in his confused and disoriented state he couldn’t understand where he was or how he got there.

It looked to be some sort of an industrial area; warehouses, freight containers and chain link fences as far as he could see. There was the low hum of machinery buzzing through the air around him, but no sign of other people. He looked around helplessly as he backed against the fence behind him. A shiver tore through his body and he wrapped his arms around himself, noticing that he was only in his shirtsleeves (sodden with sweat and clinging uncomfortably), pants and socks. His toes scrunched up as he noticed that his socks were torn and soaking wet.

Patting his pockets with trembling hands, he thanked whatever gods were watching out for him as he felt the bulk of his phone through the fabric. He slipped the phone free and pulled up Gil's number without even thinking, hitting the call button and then startling at the tinny sound of the ringing.

“Bright, it’s not even 4:30 in the morning. Some of us do actually sleep, you know,” Gil's voice was husky with sleep but he didn’t actually sound terribly annoyed.

“Gil, I don’t… I don’t know…” Malcolm was still breathing heavily and letting out a distressed whimper with every few breaths.

Gil shot up in bed, flicking on the light “Bright, what’s wrong?” The worry came through in waves, wrapping around Malcolm and warming him slightly, even though he hated the distress he so often caused the man.

“I, I’m not sure. I don’t know where I am,” Malcolm closed his eyes as he dropped his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache starting, clawing at the back of his eyes.

“Are you hurt?” Gil had about a thousand questions banging around in his head, but settled on the most important first. He was pulling on yesterday’s clothes as he spoke to Malcolm, rushing out of his bedroom while doing up his pants, shoulder holding the phone to his ear.

“No. I don’t think so,” Gil’s calming presence was helping to anchor Malcolm, making him feel less adrift and afraid. “I think… I think I was sleepwalking.”

“Bright, can you share your location with me? I’ll come and get you, okay?”

It took a couple of tries, his shaking hands hitting all the wrong buttons, but Malcolm soon turned his location on and heard Gil let out a relieved sigh when it came through on his phone.

“I’m on my way, kid,” Gil said reassuringly. “Are you in any immediate danger where you are?”

Malcolm looked around himself once more. It was dark, only few streetlights on the road, and felt vaguely abandoned. Off-putting, but hardly dangerous. “No, I’m okay. Just cold.”

Shivers were starting to wrack his body. Between the wet socks and the sweat that was now cooling as it dried, he felt the cold seeping through skin and muscle and down into his bones. The chattering of his teeth was audible through the line as Gil jumped into his car and squealed out into the street.

Gil switched his phone to speaker and tossed it on the passenger seat, as he asked “Is there anywhere nearby you can go? Any shops or restaurants that you can see?” Gil recognized the area on the map as being primarily industrial but was hoping there was somewhere warm and safe that Malcolm could wait.

“No,” Malcolm answered, “but I’ll be okay.” He was starting to get his wits about him, the haze of confusion and fear clearing as he shook off the nightmare. And as the disorientation faded, embarrassment started filtering in. “Gil, I’m sorry. I could have just called a cab. I didn’t need to get you up in the middle of the night.”

Gil huffed out an exasperated sigh. “Kid, you can always call me. You know that.” It certainly wasn’t the first time Gil was picking him up in the middle of the night, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Malcolm rubbed the back of his neck, a flush settling across his cheeks. “Yeah, I know. Thanks Gil.”

It took a little over 20 minutes for Gil to make it to Malcolm's location and he kept Malcolm on the phone the entire time, both of them needing to hear the other's voice. Even so, it wasn’t until Gil’s headlights swept over Malcolm’s hunched and shaking form that Gil finally felt the tension ebb and his heart rate slow down.

Gil pulled up to the curb and hurried out of the car, rushing over and grabbing Malcolm by the shoulders. He skimmed his eyes over Malcolm's rumpled form, ensuring himself that he really was as fine as he claimed. Aside from looking bedraggled in a way that Malcolm never did, and shivering so hard that Gil could feel the vibrations through his arms, he seemed alright.

He shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around Malcolm’s shoulders, Malcolm letting out a relieved sigh at the warmth. Gil settled a hand on the back of Bright’s neck and gave a comforting squeeze.

“You good?”

“I’m fine, Gil, really. I just wasn’t expecting it and panicked a little. I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m sorry for dragging you out here.” Malcolm eyes remained downcast, too embarrassed to meet Gil's eyes, to see the warmth that he knew would be there.

Gil pulled Bright in and wrapped his arms around him. He knew Malcolm had a hard time accepting affection and believing that people cared, and his heart twinged every time Malcolm apologized for needing help, for being a burden. He’d been trying for years to make Malcolm see his own worth. He would keep trying until he succeeded.

“I’m glad you called me, kid. I mean it,” he squeezed him a little tighter. “Now come on, we'll head back to your place for a few hours of sleep.” He led Malcolm to the car and opened the passenger door, letting him settle himself in before closing the door and heading to the driver’s side. He cranked the heat as high it could go and patted Bright on the shoulder as he eased back on the road.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gil asked, glancing sideways and taking in Malcolm’s diminished form, curled up and making himself as small as possible.

“Not really,” Malcolm sighed.

Gil let the silence sit a little, settle around them. He knew Bright sometimes just needed a minute to sort out his emotions, for his mind to process what his heart was feeling. They were almost at Malcolm’s apartment when Malcolm huffed out a breath.

“I was chasing Paul. Through the tunnels. I needed answers but I couldn’t catch him,” he said quietly. He was looking out the side window, hands fidgeting in his lap. He balled them into fists as he added a hushed “I need answers, Gil.”

“I know, kid,” Gil said as he pulled into a spot across from Malcolm’s place and put the car in park. He shifted in his seat, angling his body towards Bright and waiting until Bright turned to face him. “Look, I spent years telling you to move on, telling you that the Girl in the Box didn’t exist. And I’m sorry for that. But now, I promise you, Bright, I will help you find your answers.”

Malcolm offered a bashful smile, not quite meeting Gil's eyes. “Thank you, Gil. For everything.”

Gil gave Malcolm’s knee a pat and got out of the car, heading around to Malcolm’s side to offer a hand if he needed it. Malcolm moved slowly, his abused muscles protesting the battering from the turnstile, the midnight run, the constriction from the car ride home.

They slowly made their way up to Bright’s apartment and Gil made Malcolm wait in the stairwell when he noticed that the door was wide open.

“It’s fine Gil, I doubt I stopped to close the door when I ran out of here.” Malcolm tried to laugh it off, but there was a pinch too much shame underlying it to be believable.

“Humour me.”

Gil did a quick sweep of the place but, as expected, turned up nothing. He called out to Bright that it was clear to come in, and he shuffled in with his hands buried deep in his pockets, Gil’s jacket still draped over his shoulders.

Gil was in the living room, picking up Malcolm’s scotch glass from the floor and righting the furniture that had been knocked out of place during Bright’s nightmare. “Go clean yourself up, kid. I’ll take care of this.”

Malcolm made his way to the bathroom for a quick shower, washing the stale sweat of his nightmare away. When he came out, Gil had set the place to rights and was waiting for him beside his bed with a glass of water.

“You need to sleep for a couple of hours,” he said, handing the glass over.

Bright chuckled, “Don’t think I could if I wanted to.”

“Try. Your body needs to heal and your mind needs a break.”

Malcolm looked down at the restraints on the bed, embarrassed. He'd told Gil about the night terrors, that he slept in restraints, but it was the first time that Gil was actually seeing them. Gil had been like a father to Malcolm growing up and having him see how broken he really was made Malcolm’s stomach churn. For some reason, it felt like he was letting him down.

Gil recognized the embarrassment and shame as they flashed across Bright’s face. He took the water back and put it down on the night table and once again pulled Bright in for a hug, wishing he could make the kid understand that he didn’t ever need to feel that way with him.

“Two hugs in one day,” Malcolm said into Gil's shoulder after a moment, “I must really look terrible.”

Gil pulled back with a smile and gestured to the bed. “Go to sleep, kid. I’ll be here if the nightmares start.”

Malcolm still felt embarrassed climbing into bed and doing up the restraints under Gil's watchful eye, but knowing that Gil was there, that he would be looking out for him, it made Malcolm feel secure enough to try to sleep.

And when a nightmare had him thrashing about in bed less than an hour later, Gil was there almost immediately to wake him up. To keep him safe. And for a change, Malcolm didn’t feel ashamed for wanting that.


End file.
